Living in the Glass Closet
by Adenil
Summary: Is Wilson gay? No. Definitely not. But when he puts his heart in a steel cage and vows never to date women again, his sexuality is thrown into question and turmoil.
1. In Which There is Beer

Living in the Glass Closet

A House M.D. fanfic

This fanfic is written entirely from Wilson's point of view because Wilson definitely does not get enough love in the world of fan fictions.

WARNING: Written in a world where Amber never existed! Sorry folks, no angst for you.

Description: Is Wilson gay? No. Definitely not. But when he puts his heart in a steel cage and vows never to date women again, his sexuality is thrown into question and turmoil.

Pairing: Contains House/Wilson and possible mentions of Chase/Foreman. (Depends on the setting of your slash goggles)

* * *

Wilson was drunk. Wilson was severely, utterly wasted in fact. At the beginning of his night on House's couch he had a reason for getting so wasted. He had forgotten that reason about half a binge ago. As it was, he was still going strong for… whatever the cause.

House shifted on the couch beside him. Wilson turned a bleary eye and watched House stand and limp off into the sunset. Wait. No. House was just going into the kitchen.

House returned with more beer. _Light _beer, surprisingly.

"Ish light." Wilson pointed out.

"To help you keep your girlish figure." Unlike Wilson, House was not drunk at all. He had only had two drinks, having been to busy keeping Wilson's bottle filled.

"Ish good," which was a lie. The beer was cheap and tasted bitter in all the bad ways. Wilson found himself holding an empty bottle and blinked. "Dang."

"Hold on," House rose again and headed towards the kitchen. He returned moments later with three full bottles.

Wilson accepted one of the bottles and House tossed the other two onto the couch. Then he vanished. Wilson looked up and blinked. Where had House gone?

"I'm right here." House waved a hand in front of Wilson's face. "Here, hold this."

Wilson took what House handed him. He started to inspect it closely, but bonked himself on the nose. He held it slightly farther away and squinted instead. It was a small box about an inch square. The top and bottom were held up with metal poles as thin as toothpicks. It looked like a—

"Cage."

"Brilliant deduction, Wilson. Do you know why I gave you a cage?"

Wilson shook his head.

House sighed and sat down again on the couch. He fished out one of the beer bottles and popped the top, taking a swig. "Do you remember why you decided to get gloriously drunk tonight, Wilson?"

"Beer tastes good."

"Close!" House laughed. "But no cigar. No, you are here because you just broke up with your latest girl-toy after you both cheated on each other." Wilson began to drop attention. House clapped his hands and Wilson snapped back to life. "Why do you think this is?"

"Other girl was really hot." Wilson nodded and took a drink of his _light _beer.

"True," House conceded. "But I think it's because you have no control. So! We are going to do an experiment."

"What kind of expa—exprea—axeperetiment—" he gave up.

"You—" House tapped Wilson on the chest. "Are going to put your heart in that little cage."

Wilson made a protest noise. "I'll get blood on it!"

"Not literally. Let's say… Metaphysically. You put your heart in the box and make a vow that you are not to date any more women ever. Ever." House poked Wilson again to make his point.

"Who will I date?"

"That's your problem." House made a jerky movement and rose. "Drink that beer, and then go to sleep."

House vanished down the hall, leaving Wilson alone on the couch. Wilson turned the small cage in his hands. The tiny metal bars reflected neatly in the lights. He liked the way the cage looked. It was very artistic and almost… pretty.

He tried to use his superior intellect to contemplate the severity of the situation, but was quickly distracted by a loose string in the couch cover. He pulled at it until it came loose, and then flicked it over the back of the couch into the great unknown.

Wilson yawned. He was much too tired to think through what House had told him. Instead he put the cage on the coffee table and added his now empty beer bottle to the impressive pile on the floor. He contemplated the final full bottle, but he couldn't open it in his inebriated state.

Wilson slid the final bottle onto the floor and curled up on the couch. He found a comfortable position easily and was asleep before he could think about anything else at all. So Wilson slept, and slept, and slept.

Until he woke up.


	2. Wilson Awakens

Forgot the disclaimer: I do not own House, his affiliates, or anything at all related to the television series 'House.' I would appreciate not getting arrested or thrown in jail for this little bit of joy I bring to my readers. Peace out.

Everything was bright. To bright. And if it wasn't bright, then it was loud. To loud. And if it wasn't bright or loud, it was just plain _irritating. _

Wilson rolled over and crammed his face into the back of the couch. Something in House's house (briefly Wilson had an internal laugh at that, but it soon died a horrible death) was making a horrific noise.

Wilson managed to ignore the noise for a few moments, but lost the battle quickly. He rolled over and promptly fell off the couch.

He landed with a sharp thunk on the floor. Groaning too loudly for his own ears, he managed to stand up. He looked around, finally locating the source of the horrific caterwauling.

House was singing.

Loudly.

And, as much as Wilson hated to admit it, House had a nice singing voice.

"Oh what a beautiful morning! Oh what a beautiful day! I've got a beautiful feeling!"

"House!" Wilson shrieked. "Shut up."

"Wilson!" House swooped into the living room all smiles and well wishes. "Don't you look bright eyed and bushy tailed?"

"No. Go away." Was it Wilson's imagination, or was House talking extra loudly?

"But dah-ling," House blinked rapidly and crooked his wrist just-so. "I made breakfast." He held out a plate filled with food.

Wilson blinked the sleep from his eyes and inspected the plate. On it were three eggs, only one of which was properly cooked. Two pieces of bread— bread, not toast—were slathered with butter next to the eggs. Four pieces of charcoal bacon were positioned precariously on the edge of the plate.

Wilson winced. "You really can't cook, can you?"

"Nope." He smiled. "But I don't have to eat it. You do."

"I'm not eating that." Wilson pushed past House into the kitchen. He got himself a glass of water and downed it. He sighed and got another glass full. Wilson turned around and jumped.

"House!"

House pulled back slightly to increase his distance from Wilson to three inches. He pouted. "You don't want my breakfast? I slaved over a hot stove for hours to make it!" He quivered his lip over-dramatically.

Wilson took the plate and set it on the counter behind him. He quickly pushed past House again and dove into the living room with his water. He sat down on the couch to swear mentally at his hangover induced headache.

"Oh Wilson," House sing-songed as he limped in after Wilson. "Guess what time it is?"

"Time to die?"

"Close, but no." House sat down on the couch and smirked. "It's ten o'clock."

"Ten o'clock."

"In the morning."

"In the morning."

House was beginning to get annoyed. "Which means you're late."

"Which means I'm late."

"Wilson," House frowned. "You are _late _for _work_ for the first time in two years and you haven't even called in. Care, damn you."

"I assume Cuddy already called and you told her I was sick." Wilson drained his glass of water and wished for more.

"You know what they say about assuming." House smirked. "I told her you died."

"Hmm," Wilson arched an eyebrow. "Did she believe you?"

There was a sudden knock on the door. One second later Kutner burst into the apartment. He surveyed the scene and instantly deflated. "Cuddy said you needed help hiding a body?"

"How'd you get in?" House scowled.

"Cuddy has a whole drawer in her desk full of keys." Kutner threw a key at House and House caught it. "They all look the same too, so I think they're all for your apartment."

House muttered a dry curse under his breath and left the room abruptly. Kutner smiled and looked around not-so-subtly.

"What's with you?" Wilson asked.

"Dude," Kutner laughed. "This is awesome. It's like a window into House's soul."

"A dirty, grimy, broken window that you can't even see through."

"Well, yeah." Kutner shifted from foot to foot. "So, uh, do you need a ride to work?"

Wilson started to say no, but halfway from his brain to his mouth it turned into a nod, which was a bit of a shock. His headache pounded at his temples, silently trickling down behind his ears. "Yeah," he confirmed. "I could use that."

So Kutner gave him a ride to work that day.


	3. Wilson's Best Day Ever

Wilson was not having the best day ever. He was not even having a sub-average day. His day was, in fact, absolutely horrific.

He had been forced to tell every single one of his chronic patients that they had not improved one iota. Three of them had fallen out of remission, and one had been a seriously close call. He had accidentally flirted with a patient, who asked him out. For some reason, Wilson had turned her down point blank, and he couldn't figure out why.

Something was eating at the back of his mind. Something he couldn't quite remember.

House had studiously avoided him the whole day. His excuse was a difficult case, but the whole hospital knew House had been without a case for a week.

And don't get him started on the clinic patients.

It was with this in mind that Wilson skulked back to his office to mope before he caught a bus back to House's house (Wilson again had a small, quickly dead, laugh at that) to get his car.

A glint of metal caught his eye as he sat down at his desk. Wilson sat forward and snatched up a small metal cage. The cage looked familiar. Wilson sat back and contemplated the small cage, doing his best to recall why it looked so familiar.

It was a small box about an inch square. The top and bottom were held up with metal poles as thin as toothpicks. Something tickled at his mind. Something House had said…

Quite suddenly Wilson remembered where he had seen this cage.

He teetered on the edge of annoyance and laughter. He chose laughter. Giggling madly he slipped the small cage into his brief case. He sat back into his seat and contemplated life, the universe, and House.

Why in the world would House make him keep his 'heart' in a box and swear not to date? Why a cage? Why get him drunk first? Why _light _beer?

Then House walked into his office. Well, he threw open the door and limped pronouncedly over to sit down on Wilson's couch.

"Hello, House." Wilson really couldn't think of anything else to say.

"'sup." House gave Wilson an upward nod using only his chin. "Buy me dinner and I'll let you ride in the backseat of my car."

"Why would I agree to that?" Wilson decided his other questions could wait for another time and place.

"To save on bus fare, of course."

"Aha, I see. So, and correct me if I'm wrong," Wilson sat forward and squinted at House. "In order to save money, I should spend ten dollars on you instead of the two dollars on bus fare."

"Ten dollars?" House scoffed. "For that I might make you ride in the trunk."

"You are so generous, House." Wilson twitched his head sarcastically. "No, really, thank you."

House rolled his eyes and hopped up, balancing precariously on his left foot for a second. "I expect at least a twelve dollar meal."

"Deal," Wilson smiled and stood up. He grabbed his brief case and pushed past House. Using his peripheral vision, Wilson caught House examining the top of his desk where the cage had been. He seemed surprised when he didn't find the cage. "Looking for something?"

"Nope," House tapped his cane on the floor and quickly left the small room.

Three seconds exactly after Wilson left his office with House he was accosted by Nurse Janet Marshall.

"Doctor Wilson." The young (and bouncy) Nurse slid up next to him. "How nice to see you again. How are you doing after…?"

"Fine," Wilson smiled awkwardly and tried to scoot by her.

She laid a soft hand on his shoulder. "Would you like to talk about it? We could go out somewhere…?"

House let out a barking laugh and leaned against the wall, clearly enjoying the show.

"Like a _date_?" Wilson spluttered.

She blinked stupidly. "Why would you assume that? Unless…. Would you like it to be…?" She fluttered her eyelashes and simpered.

"I don't date women anymore." Wilson told her before he could think of what he was saying.

Her eyes widened comically and she gasped. "So you mean—are you really? Is that—" She looked quickly at House. "Oh no, I didn't mean—so sorry, is he…? I have to leave." She left.

Wilson stood blinking and House burst into laughter. "Nice Wilson, very efficient."

"Efficient?"

"Well, now you don't have to worry about the Nurse's hitting on you. At least, not now that you're out of the closet."

"Out of the—Wait! What? I'm not… Does she think I am?" Wilson let out a frustrated sound. "Great."

"Let's stop by surgery." House started to limp off down the hall again. "And I'll buy dinner."

Wilson sighed but nodded his ascent. He followed House to surgery. "Why so generous?"

"You just made me two hundred dollars."

"House! I can't believe you _bet _on my sexuality!" Wilson was about to keep yelling at House, but then he realized something. "Actually, I'm not surprised by that. I'm just surprised they let you bet."

"Technically I had to bet through Taub, but whatever." He shrugged. "I can still pick up the moulah and he never has to know."

"He's going to find out."

"I don't care." House raised his cane into the air in a dramatic pointing gesture. "Now, onward to victory!"

Wilson followed because, really, he had no choice.


	4. The List

The next morning Wilson found himself with three date propositions, all from men, and all in the first twelve minutes of his day

The next morning Wilson found himself with three date propositions, all from men, and all in the first twelve minutes of his day. The first two he had managed to get out of without incident. It was the third that he had problems with.

"I can't that day." Wilson said the second he knew what the conversation was about.

The man (Rick? Nick? Vick? Something like that.) smirked evilly. "I haven't even told you what day."

"Oh."

"So… Friday?"

Wilson sighed in joy. He really was busy that evening. "I can't, I've got to work."

Nick-Rick-Vick continued to smile. "Any day this week you aren't going to be busy? I can move my schedule around."

"I—I don't think that I could. I mean, it wouldn't be proper. Sorry." Wilson winced a bit at the inherent lameness of his brush-off and tried to smile.

"Oh," he sounded sympathetic almost. "Are you seeing someone?"

Wilson opened his mouth, but nothing came out. On one hand, he wasn't seeing anyone. On the other hand that would be the perfect excuse. He couldn't decide what to say.

"It's okay." Mick (Wilson finally remembered his name) patted his shoulder. "I understand. Your boyfriend must be important to you."

"Yes." Wilson nodded, feeling a bit sick.

"Don't worry, I won't tell a soul."

They parted ways, with Wilson going to his office and Mick going… wherever.

A few hours later Wilson received a page. He checked it. It was Cuddy. It wasn't an emergency page, but the one she usually used that meant: "Get up here now or I will hunt you down." She had formerly used that one on House, but had given it up in favor of: "I'm cutting off your drug supply. Move your ass."

He decided to heed the warning and head to Cuddy's office. He told all the relevant people where he was heading and booked it to the lions den.

When he entered he was surprised to find her smiling. Not even just smiling, but _beaming_.

"You rang?" He asked awkwardly.

"Word on the street is you've got someone special in your life." She leaned forward eagerly. "I thought you broke up with her?"

"I did," Wilson said, refusing to give anything away.

"So…" Cuddy's smile grew even bigger. "I hear its House."

"What!?" Wilson shouted and drew a hand to his mouth. "What?" He whispered again, much weaker this time.

Cuddy sat back into her chair and frowned in annoyance. "No? Dang, it came from a reputable source, too." She suddenly smirked. "Unless you're hiding it?"

"No! We aren't dating. Jesus, I'm not even gay." He slid a hand through his hair and sat down heavily in one of Cuddy's chairs.

"You're not?"

"Don't sound so surprised." Wilson spat.

"I—I'm sorry, Wilson. It's just; it is a surprise when you say it like that." Cuddy shrugged. "But whatever."

"What makes you think I am… gay?" Wilson decided to compile a list of all the reasons she gave him, study them, and then delete those reasons from his life.

But then the strangest thing happened. Cuddy pulled out a leaf of paper. "I compiled a list, for just such an occasion."

"_Seriously?_ What is wrong with you?" Wilson gaped, but did accept the paper.

"The nurses helped with some. It was kind of fun, after a while. It brought us all closer together." Her eyes misted over and she gazed lovingly at the ceiling. "It was the best slumber party ever."

"Somebody help me." Wilson began to look over the list. "… None of these make sense."

"Like what?"

"Like, number one 'Dates women a lot.' Isn't that what straight people do?" He made a strange gesture with one upturned palm. "Isn't it?"

"You just referred to straight people as if they are a different species. Are you saying you aren't one of us?" She smirked evilly. "That was quite a slip."

"That proves nothing."

She didn't respond to his defense. She waved a hand dismissively. "Read on, McDuff."

Wilson read on. Sometimes he would make a shocked noise, sometimes he would look incredulously at Cuddy, once he nearly fainted. But after every number he would look to Cuddy for confirmation and she would nod.

"Cuddy… You forgot one very important piece of the puzzle." Wilson folded the list up and slipped it into his lab coat pocket.

"What's that?" Cuddy had gotten a bit bored and resorted to paper work to pass the time.

"If I'm 'gay'" Here he actually stopped, raised his hands, and did finger quotes. "Shouldn't I be oh, I don't know, attracted to_ men?_"

"Didn't you read fifteen?" Cuddy smiled and turned back to her paper work. "Now, if you feel like you're about to have a core meltdown, leave. Otherwise, you can stay."

Wilson stared blankly ahead for a single moment. Then, he stood up and slowly left the office. On his way out he turned back to Cuddy and shook his head.

"This isn't over."

"Yes it is." She smiled again and made a shooing motion with her right hand.

Wilson decided to locate House. Maybe the mad, mad diagnostician could find a way to fix this. But probably he would just make it worse.

Strangely, Wilson was okay with that.


	5. Reasons Why

Quick note: I stole Nurse Brad, but I can't remember where from. Sorry. If you know, review and tell me so that I can thank whoever came up with that name/character/whatever you would call it.

* * *

Wilson wasn't really bothered with the fact that House had laughed when he showed him the list. He wasn't even bothered that House decided to read the list, out-loud, to him to try and figure out where these people were coming from.

What bothered him was the fact that he had chosen the clinic as the spot for this little story time adventure.

Really, it was his own fault. Wilson had told House he wanted to speak to him, in a public place, and even given him the list while still in that very public place. Of course, that place had been two floors away from where they were now standing so maybe it wasn't completely his fault.

House whipped the piece of manila yellow paper out and flicked his wrist, snapping the paper open smartly. He cleared his throat. "Ahem, if I may have your attention? Ladies and gentlemen (and Nurse Brenda) I hereby give you 'The Top Fifteen Reasons why James E. Wilson is in the Glass Closet.'"

Wilson dove for the paper. "House! Give me that!"

"Ah-ah-ah," House pulled the paper away. "Mine, go get your own."

"Aw," Nurse Brenda smiled from behind the desk. "A lovers quarrel already?"

"Nope," House said matter-of-factly. "Just a little character exposition."

"House if you do not give me that paper right now I swear I will beat you with your own cane." Wilson raised a threatening finger and wagged it uselessly at House.

"Kinky," House winked.

Wilson flushed with embarrassment. Then he realized he was flushing with embarrassment and promptly flushed with anger. He was _not_ supposed to be embarrassed about this; it was all House's fault to begin with.

"This is all your fault."

"Yup," House cleared his throat. "Reason number one, 'Wilson dates a lot of women.'"

"Well, that's true," said a passing nurse Wilson vaguely remembered dating once or twice. He wanted to apologize to her, but could not for the life of him remember her name. He decided to forgo apology.

"House," Wilson warned again.

"Reason number two: 'Hangs out only with House/Gave job to save House.' Aw, Jimmy," House blinked prettily at him. "I didn't know you cared."

"I don't. Now give me that." Wilson made a lunge for the slip of paper that so readily spelled out his doom.

House raised his cane and hit him soundly on the shin.

Wilson doubled over in pain, his soft gasps drawing even more of a crowd than House's paper-reading. There were now about two dozen people standing around watching intently and waiting for something exciting to happen.

"Reason number three: 'Stands constantly with his hands on his hips.'"

"That was mine!" one older nurse stepped forward to lay claim to 'number three.' "He stands just like Tim Gunn." (see a/n)

Several in the crowd nodded their agreement, many nodding simply because they did not know what was going on. House shrugged his shoulders in agreement as well. "Works for me. Okay, number four: 'Dr. Wilson was divorced three times.'"

The crowd oohed at Wilson as he managed to straighten from his position rubbing his shin. "What?" He asked defensively. "Can't a man get divorced? It's a free country." He crossed his arms dramatically and pouted.

"You should add that pose to the list." A not-so-innocent bystander suggested. The rest of the crowd (now nearly forty strong) proclaimed their agreement adamantly.

"Done," House stole a pencil from the desk and scratched it in at the bottom of the list.

"What!" Wilson quickly dismembered his pose. "What is wrong with you people?"

House continued to read the list unabated. He laughed suddenly. "Oh, this is a good one. Number five: 'Stares intently at Nurse Brad's butt.'"

The crowd giggled and Wilson flushed once again. There was a movement to his left. Wilson jumped and spun around, only to flush redder.

"Oh, hello Nurse… Brad."

"Seriously?" Was all the other man asked.

"No! No, not seriously. House is just being… House." Wilson tried to stop blushing with so much effort that it actually made him blush more.

Nurse Brad nodded, turned sharply on one heel, and disappeared into the crowd.

Wilson gulped at his new crowd, which had only grown since his last count. The assembled were now spilling out into the hallways, most of them women, most of the women nurses. He saw a few of his cancer patients enjoying the show, and even a small cluster of other doctors. He thought he caught a glimpse of Foreman, but was distracted instantly by House again.

"Reason number six and this is a good one: 'Doctor Wilson uses a Hairdryer, and has more personal hygiene then any self respecting straight man.'" House shuddered. "Ooh, burned Wilson."

"How is good hygiene bad?" Wilson exclaimed. "How?"

"Don't you watch TV?" Wilson's earlier suspicions were confirmed as Foreman stepped out of the crowd like a vision. "Our society thinks that gay men care about their appearance and straight men don't. It's all just a societal construct; don't read too much into it. That's why men who care about their appearance are ostracized by other men, but adored by the ladies."

"What? That's the silliest thing I've ever heard of!" He looked longingly at the crowd. "What about Chase? He cares about his appearance."

Foreman coughed. "Chase is a bad example."

"Why?" asked about ten voices, including House and Wilson, at exactly the same time.

Timidly, Foreman withdrew. "Just trust me; Chase is a very bad example of a straight man."

House grinned a grin the darkened the room considerably. "Good to know. Alrighty then, reason number seven: 'James Wilson—'"

"House!" Cuddy bore down on them like a freight train. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Reading." House said in his 'duh' voice. "You don't want my brain to atrophy do you?"

"Give that back to Wilson right…" Cuddy trailed off. She turned slowly to examine the assembled masses. "Why are you all here? This isn't the most exciting thing ever."

"We all live sad slow lives and feel the need the live vicariously through others." One young boy spoke up.

The rest of the crowd blinked at him, but did have to nod their agreement.

"Well don't you all have places to be?" she asked coldly, threatening them with her eyes.

The crowd broke up in record time. Thankfully, no one was hurt. Wilson thought fleetingly of leaving as well, if only to avoid the drama. Then he remembered who was in charge of the hospital and decided against such action.

"Give him his paper back now, House." Cuddy continued as soon as their audience was gone.

"Who says it's his?" House pouted, but he did hand the paper back to Wilson.

Wilson quickly snatched the paper up and shoved it deep into his pocket. He felt a bit like throwing up, and also a bit like running away, and even a bit like right then would have been a great time for everyone to start singing. He hummed a few bars of _Saint's Hallelujah_ quietlybut quickly gave up on that idea.

"I need to leave," he said, opting instead for 'run away.'

So Wilson left.

Over his shoulder he could hear Cuddy loudly berating House, ("You can't just _out _another doctor") and trying to get him to go to her office so she could berate him even louder. He refused, of course. ("Why can't I?") Wilson blocked out the rest of the hospital sounds and focused on his new mission.

Go into hiding and never, ever, _ever, _emerge.

* * *

Author's note: Tim Gunn is a man from the show _Project Runway _with which I have a painful love/hate relationship. Tim's a cool guy though. He sometimes stands with his hands on his hips, which is hilarious in a weird sort of way. Oh, just go watch the show, or just remain forever ignorant. I don't care. Make it work, Wilson, just make it work!


	6. List Cont'd

Unfortunately for Wilson he did not take into account basic bodily needs when he went into hiding. So, a few hours after going underground he did emerge to use the little boy's room.

Wilson walked quickly to the bathroom, careful to avoid everyone. He took short shuffling strides and kept his head low, not looking at anyone. He managed to get to his destination without incident.

He had just unzipped to get down to business when House entered.

"I knew you would have to come out some time. Oh wait, you already did." He limped over and stood way to close to Wilson.

"House, go away. You're breaking the number one rule of men's bathrooms."

"I've come to apologize."

Wilson jumped. House apologizing was not natural, not in the least. "Seriously?"

"Sure! Now, sign this paper." House whipped out a sheet that looked like a legal document.

Wilson knew there was a catch. He quickly finished with what he was doing. "Go away, House." He pushed past House to the sink to wash his hands.

"Come on, you've got to prove to Cuddy that you accepted my apology. Other wise I'm getting three hundred extra clinic hours! That's a lot."

"Oh, wow," Wilson said sarcastically, still scrubbing furiously at his hands. "I feel so bad for you."

"You suck, Wilson. Do a friend a favor." He waved the paper around hopefully.

Wilson didn't respond. He cupped his hands beneath the water, watching it pool and collect into a glittering pond, only to spill over into the sink. He turned off the hot water and ran only cold in a small attempt to try and cool his temper.

"House, as soon as you apologize and mean it, I will accept it."

"Oh, I mean it, especially if it gets me out of clinic duty."

Wilson threw the water that had collected in his hands directly at House's face. House gaped and blinked and gaped some more.

"Go away, House." Wilson said at the dripping House. Wilson decided House was taking to long to get moving and instead he left the bathroom. The water was still running.

His walk back to his hiding place (behind the desk in his office) was less carefully executed then his walk away. His strides were long and his face upturned, but his obvious anger kept any one wishing to talk at bay.

His blew into his office like an angry storm and glared at the empty space. He wished desperately for someone to come in, so he could glare at them instead. He knew that was a foolish thought and quickly dismissed it.

Wilson sat down and crossed his arms, pouting furiously. The thought of 'reason number sixteen' crossed his mind and he quickly struck a different pose. He leaned forward and rested his chin on his palm, tapping out a beat on his desk with the other.

This was the scene House walked in on.

Wilson watched house give a double take and almost leave. House seemed to steel himself and keep his forward motion going. He sat down on Wilson's couch and continued to stare blankly.

"What?" Wilson asked, irritated.

"I stole your list."

Wilson's hand flew to his pocket and he frowned. He pulled out the paper and shook his head. "I've got it here."

The paper disappeared from his hand. "Yoink." House unfurled the paper and started to look it over.

"House!" Wilson shouted.

"Wilson!" House shouted back. He turned back to the paper. "I didn't get a chance to finish reading."

"House…" Wilson warned.

"Now, where were we?" He looked at Wilson expectantly. "Seriously, where were we? I forgot where we left off."

Wilson sighed, his arguments sounding forced even in his own head. "Number seven."

"Lucky number seven! 'James Wilson dresses far too nicely and has the most adorable ties.'" House wrinkled his nose. "I think your ties are ugly.

"Thanks for that," he frowned. "It means a lot."

"Welcome," House turned back to the ominous list. "Reason numbah eight: 'Wilson is whinier than me…' Oh wow." House gaped.

"I know." Wilson had to smile a bit at 'number eight.'

"Why would she _sign_ it?" House turned the paper to Wilson. On it, right after 'number eight's' proclamations were the words 'XOXO, Cameron.'

"The world is a many splendered wonder." Wilson shrugged. "Now, you've had your fun. Give me that back now."

House looked at him curiously. "Why don't you want me to keep reading…" he kept reading. "I see… 'He has a nice bum.'"

"Well, at least they speak the truth." Wilson craned his neck to check out his own tush. "Very fine, indeed. Now," Wilson stood up and slammed his palms into his desk. "Since you've completely shattered any sense of self respect I once had, I will be leaving." Wilson made a beeline for the door.

Somehow House managed to get there first. He slammed a fist into the door and glared at Wilson.

"Oh no, my friend. You're not going anywhere."


	7. House Answers

Well, House lied. Right after House's dramatic outburst he had stepped back and suggested they go out to dinner. Of course, Wilson was paying to make up for House paying earlier in the week.

Wilson had insisted on cooking.

These events resulted in the two of them sitting on House's lumpy couch munching on Bahraini. The television was making happy noises and the two of them hadn't said a word to each other since Wilson's office.

Wilson broke the silence. "Why did you do it House?"

"To help my people." House said with a full mouth. "My people are the Mongs, by the way. In case that wasn't clear."

"I _mean _why you suggested I put my heart in a box." Wilson made a face. "And swallow your food before you talk."

House chewed his new bite very slowly. Nearly two minutes after taking the bite he swallowed and stared intently at Wilson.

"What was the question?"

"Why would you get me drunk and ask me to stick my metaphorical heart in a box?" Wilson set his plate on the coffee table and crossed his arms in annoyance. For a moment he didn't care if he was supporting 'reason number sixteen' he just wanted answers.

"It was a test," House said. He started to eat again.

"A _test?_" Wilson spluttered. "Of what? You're so _stupid_ some times, House."

"I had a reason." House scowled. "It just got lost in translation. And it wasn't a box, it was a cage."

"Oh-ho-ho, well then I'm sorry. Clearly you were right and I was wrong."

House was beginning to look uncomfortable. "I wanted to see if you would do it…"

Wilson turned an icy killer glare on House. "To see if I would _do it?_ So, what, to see if while completely smashed I would agree to put my heart into a box—sorry, _cage_? Why?"

"You never agreed while you were drunk." House had lost his plate somewhere around the middle of the argument. "It was only after, and while you were completely sober that you made a pact with yourself to never date women again."

"So? Why would you even start this? Jesus, House, just tell me." Wilson was practically begging now.

House stood up and turned his back to Wilson. "All you ever do is what I say. You follow me and do as I say, even when you don't want to. Even when it's an absolutely horrible idea. I—" House paused. "I want to break you of that habit."

Wilson waited a moment, somberly surveying House's back. "No you don't." He rose from the couch and grabbed his coat. Sliding it over his shoulders he looked back at House. "Give me a real reason, and I'll accept your fake apology. Just give me a reason."

He looked imploringly at House, and House didn't look back. Wilson sighed and left House alone.

He walked to his car slowly. He threw open the door in frustration and sat down in the drivers seat. He had his car keys out, but made no motions to start the vehicle.

He was angry. He was frustrated. But he also felt like he was acting too childishly. Sitting and moping in his car after a lame argument for House had never done wonders for his soul.

There was a tap on his window. Wilson jumped and whipped around to look out the window. House was staring in.

"Get out of the car."

"Go away, House." Wilson finally reached forward and slid the key in the ignition. He turned it and the engine roared to life.

House yanked open the door and reached in. He grabbed Wilson by the shirt collar and yanked him out. Wilson tripped and nearly fell, but managed to regain his footing.

"House!"

"I'm telling you why!"

Wilson shut his mouth abruptly, his teeth snapping together loudly. House seethed in front of him, leaning heavily on his cane. His shoulders slumped forward. Suddenly, House snapped up straight.

"I'm sick of you dating people you have no emotional connection to simply because you feel like they need help or you should be attracted to them. Get over yourself." House looked to the sky as if considering something. "Yep, that's everything."

"House, wait." Wilson reached forward and pinched House's coat sleeve, preventing his departure. "That doesn't answer all my questions.

House looked blankly at his coat sleeve where Wilson's thumb and forefinger met to hold him down. "Everything on that list was the truth." He said, not taking his eyes from Wilson's hand.

"Yes, it was."

"Everything from cheating, to watching telenovellas, to being Jewish." House raised his eyes to meet Wilson's.

"I still don't see why my religious choices make me gay." Wilson shifted his hand, wrapping his fingers around House's wrist.

"It's because you have no Jew fro," House slipped his foot forward, sliding himself closer to Wilson. "But my favorite was number fifteen."

Wilson withdrew his hand and stepped back. "I'm not sure I follow."

"You read the list." House stepped forward.

"It was in quotes." Wilson stuttered.

"It was still on the list," House said. "So it's true."

"I don't—" Wilson paused as his back hit the car. House continued forward, boxing him in.

"You stuck you heart in a cage for that reason."

"No!"

"Yes, now admit it." House continued leaning forward.

"I admit nothing." Wilson tilted his head back, still trying to escape but with no where to go.

"This means you admit everything, which means I can do this!"

House swooped forward, catching Wilson by surprise. There was a flutter Wilson realized was his heart, and then he had a complete moment of joy where his skin tingled pleasantly. House's lips touched his.

They pulled apart. The fluttering stopped. Wilson waited for his world to explode, or at the very least come crashing down. Nothing like that happened.

House smirked. "To answer all your questions, that was why."

* * *

Reason number fifteen: Jimmy 'loves' Greg.

* * *

Author's notes: Worry not, this story isn't quite over yet. There is still one more chapter as a sort of finisher thing. I just need to finish tweaking it, should be up by tomorrow.


	8. A Gift, and The End

Wilson sat curled up on the couch next to House. He sighed in contentment, glad that they could still do 'friend' things even if House had decided to take such a huge step. Well, Wilson hadn't exactly fought the steps, but the point still existed.

House whacked him on the head with his cane. "Stop sounding happy, you're killing the mood."

He pulled back in annoyance and rubbed his head in pain. "We're watching a romantic comedy and you're worried about my happiness killing the mood?"

"I just know you're about to do something sickeningly sentimental. I'm trying to avoid that at all costs."

"Well," Wilson shifted guiltily. "I was about to do something a little sentimental."

"Oh jeez, you aren't going to talk about feelings are you? Please say no." House clasped his hands together in the classic praying position.

"No, of course not." Wilson leapt up from the couch and walked around back to locate his brief case. He opened it and dug around inside until he found what he was looking for.

He stood up and handed House the cage.

"What's that for?" House looked confused as he accepted the tiny steel structure that had seriously thrown them both for a loop.

"Sentimentality," Wilson answered. "I'm giving you my heart."

"I knew it!" House exclaimed. "First come the feelings then comes the endless rants about me pulling my weight around here."

"I do that anyway."

"So we're going backwards? What's next, wild—?"

Wilson covered House's mouth with his hand. "Just take the box."

"It's a cage." He managed to say around Wilson's hand. But House soon settled back into the couch to watch the show.

Wilson curled back up next to him, enjoying the closeness. He could still hear House muttering about 'feelings' under his breath, but Wilson knew it was all show. Out of the corner of his eye Wilson could see House clutching the cage containing his 'heart' tightly. As if he was afraid of losing it.

Wilson smiled. He could deal with that, with House holding onto him tightly. He could definitely deal with that.

* * *

Authors ending notes: So that's it! I want to thank all my reviewers; I don't think I've ever gotten such an enthusiastic response from any of my work. Thank you for all of your encouragement. I decided to post my version of 'the list,' enjoy.

Top fifteen reasons why James E. Wilson is in the Glass Closet – plus one.

1) Wilson dates a lot of women.

2) Hangs out only with House/Gave job to save House.

3) Stands constantly with his hands on his hips.

4) Dr. Wilson was divorced three times.

5) Stares intently at Nurse Brad's butt.

6) Doctor Wilson uses a Hairdryer, and has more personal hygiene then any self respecting straight man.

7) James Wilson dresses far too nicely and has the most adorable ties.

8) Wilson is whinier then me. (XOXO Cameron)

9) He has a nice bum.

10) Turned down a date with Janet Marshall!

11) Was quoted in saying he: 'doesn't date women anymore.'

12) Cheats more often then pro wrestlers.

13) Jewish but lacks 'Jew fro'.

14) Watches Telenovellas in Spanish.

15) Jimmy loves Greg.

(and, 16) James Wilson can seriously strike a pose.


End file.
